Akin To The Mask
by MaveSenogara
Summary: Their blades meet. The screeching of metal against metal sounds despicably like a banshee's wailing. The grisly clanging recurs once, twice, thrice, again, in an endless symphony of rancorous, excruciating notes that drown out even the blasted thunder. This is their last song. The touch of the blades are their cold kisses of farewell. -Warning:OC Byzantine EmpirexOttoman Empire. AU
1. It Begins

Alexios Laskaris

* * *

_W__HY?_

One word. One inquiring syllable.

How then can it hold such gravity? How can one sudden sentiment silence the cacophony blaring in his mind? How can one drop-like thought calm the agitated waves churning in his tempestuous head? One word. And yet, it is one word that perfectly captures the essence of sorrow that burns deeply within Alexios Laskaris.

_Why_ did he permit it to come this far? _Why _didn't he end it back then, back when he had been rewarded with chance after chance to bury his blade in the other's chest? _Why _does the vivid picture of olive eyes that had shined with tears of hurt, anger and frustration threaten to eclipse his thoughts? _Why _does his heart continue to throb ever so painfully within his constricting chest as he attempts to glimpse those same bright green orbs that are now concealed by a mask he knows as thoroughly as his own name?

One word. One word truly holds so many excruciating questions.

A cry springs up from the Ottomans, but it isn't declared in their general's voice, a fact that genuinely annoys Alexios. His golden-brown gaze just watches the masked figure stand silently aside while his heart continues to rebel. Alexios' right hand spams into a fist, only to spring back and drop limply at his side.

"This shall be our final call." The voice booms into the empty air. "Surrender to us Istanbul and we shall spare most of your army." The words may be in Alexios' native tongue, but nonetheless, it is laced with a thick, foreign accent that his men have to struggle to decode the threatening message. Alexios, however, understands it perfectly since he had been hearing that accent speaking to him… every night… until his trysts had supposedly ended ten distressing days prior. He scorns himself for the wave of nostalgia that washes over his mind, once again sweetly attempting to pull him under and make him give in to weakness.

_Focus!_ He rebukes himself inwardly. _Now is not the time to reminisce in what has been had and what has been lost. Now is the time to ponder and fight for what we still have and what we must keep. Do not be weak. Mourn later, when the dust has settled. But until then, you must find the strength to use you sword. Concentrate._

"Our empire has thoroughly surrounded your walls." The voice continues, its tone increasing in volume, but also taking on a more ominous depth. "Give up now, or die defying the inevitable!"

When the echoes have died down, Alexios breathes out a sigh and chokes back a sob. He does not whisper a prayer to heaven the way he normally would have – the way he had done in every battle he had fought before. He does not even bother to spare a fleeting glance at the crosses embroidered on many of his army's extensive banners. He shuns all his previous war traditions and rituals in favor of a different process.

He dons the helm previously cradled in the crook of his left arm, grimly satisfied when he hears the rustle of his men following in suit. He unhurriedly frees his sword from the scabbard at his hip, the movement so slow and stiff that he is more like to wood than man. He unties the leather sheath from his hip and lets it drop onto the dusty earth.

This day, he would either live or die with his weapons stained and unsheathed. He might as well get rid of the excess weight whilst he still has both hands intact.

Keeping his eyes on the enemy's widely spread ranks, Alexios raises the steel to his lips and presses a kiss to its cold surface before holding it out in hostility towards the Ottomans as he dips into a defensive stance.

_Only one can own that kiss… and if he is to die by my blade, then at least the last kiss shall be mine alone, and not my sword's._

The tension stretches into a taut-rope like hush, pulling and fraying at the edges until it all but snaps.

A single breath. Another. One collective inhalation.

The exhale comes in the form of feral bellows and rumbling footfalls as the two conflicting sides rapidly converge in the center of the open plain… the lone expanse of land that lies between the Ottomans and Constantinople. The sound bursts forth with such ferocity that Alexios' heartbeat instinctively quickens as he is swept away by the tidal force of the radiating bloodlust. His voice instantly joins the war cry, effortlessly amalgamating with the savage screaming and at the same time being easily drowned out by the primal chorus.

It's as if the previous chaos within Alexios' mind had manifested and amplified itself exponentially into the frenzied scene unfolding before his stunned golden-brown glare.

So loud.

This sound. This hatred. This is the audible incarnation of humanity shedding all rational thought in favor of dark atrociousness. The sound is similar to Hell opening its wide maw to laugh and screech in smug defiance up at Heaven's face.

Amidst the thunderous roar of crashing flesh, flowing blood and grating steel, Alexios Laskaris, general of the withering Byzantine Empire, makes one final promise to himself before succumbing to the chant for blood and death.

_I'll find him. The Ottoman general shall fall to my hands alone._

_Sadik Adnan is mine._

* * *

_A/N: Okay… so I made this as a birthday gift to my friend. It uses her OC, the Byzantine Empire, otherwise known as Alexios Laskaris. You can find more information as well as her design on deviantART. She goes by the name SPINNY-chair-hero. I'll try to update as soon as possible and any and all feedback is greatly welcomed. Thank you!_


	2. Breakthrough

Sadik Adnan

* * *

KILLING LEAVES A BITTER TASTE IN HIS MOUTH, A DISGUSTINGLY dry and acrimonious flavor that sears a toxic trail down his gullet to contribute to the pungent lump that seems bent on choking him to death. It's been hours after the battle has started, and he is too disoriented by the raging pandemonium that he can't even get enough of his bearings to try and predict which side is winning. For now, it is just him, his sword and survival.

Sadik's weapons arc through the air like they are extensions of his lean body, sawing through armor and flesh alike, swiftly and surely, with the fluidity and grace gained only through years of training and application. The silence and stealth with which he moves signifies that there is more to him than the conventional training of a mere general. All of it – the way he darts rapidly through the tiniest gaps in the mass of flesh, sinew and bone, the conservative but efficient way with which he dispatches each and every threat standing in his way, the uncanny sense has to detect even the slightest of vulnerabilities to exploit to his advantage – marks him as a shadow personified, a master assassin proficient in the art that is death, seasoned by countless successful missions.

Merciless.

Unwavering.

Unfailing.

Never has Sadik Adnan failed in any of his "operations". Until now. There is but a single exclusion, the only exception to the otherwise unbroken rule. That failure – that infinitesimal slip in judgment – is the most grievous fault, the greatest mistake he could ever commit in the entirety of his life… however short that may be.

He continues fighting through the Byzantine soldiers, feeling the adrenaline course through his veins, preventing him from wearing out. The drive to destroy, however, is tempered by a certain care and watchfulness, a minor hesitation that is costly, but nonetheless necessary. Sadik searches for a sign, any sign, any defining element of the man that is Alexios Laskaris. He struggles to get a glimpse of Alexios' russet hair – particularly the double-curl that sticks prominently out to the right side of his face, a peek through the helmets to reveal deep-set brown eyes that possess the tendency to shine like molten gold around the edges, a glance at the chapped lips that he has seen turn down in distaste more often than not.

_I would look for his smile, but I know there is nothing to smile about in this accursed battlefield. _Sadik grimly thinks as he swings his weapon at yet another advancing adversary.

It isn't Alexios. Sadik would know even the tips of the other's fingers. Every detail of the man is inlaid in his memory, burned into his mind, festering the way a wound would.

His most grievous fault. His greatest failure.

_Dikó mou láthos. Pio tragikí ftaío__̱__. _ Sadik chants to himself in Alexios' dialect. _You are my fault, Alexios, my most grievous fault. It is you; allowing myself to indulge in you, even whilst knowing full well the pain this double-edged knife would bring to us. There is no pardon for this. It is too late… too late… __Üzgünüm__… Forgive me…_

Sadik strikes with renewed vigor, cutting through the enemy's ranks the way a livid gale slices through the still meadow air. Blood saturates his clothes and dries there, leaving his vivid garb stiff and constricting. Where there once was white, there is now just a vibrant coloration of red splotches. Where there had been a deep ruby, there is only a tart, sinister dark-brown where his enemy's lifeblood has soaked through. His turban-like headgear has long been lost in the hectic waves of pressing soldiers, thus leaving his dark brown hair to fall freely downward, the wiry strands plastering themselves to his forehead with the aid of the torrents of sweat coursing down his face.

Soon enough, the temperature of the plain noticeably cools. The blood still thickens the air and heats it, but otherwise, the cool breezes begin to blow spontaneously around the entangled armies. Sadik gazes skyward for a moment to glimpse a hint of the darkened sky. Already, the sun has been obscured by the dark, brooding clouds. Trickles of water start to descend in that bare hint of rain that precedes a storm. The wind flaps relentlessly and snarls, blowing through him, making him involuntarily shiver.

_Let this battle end now. As soon as Istanbul is in our clutches, the war is as good as over. _He pleads to anyone and no one at all. _Alexios… by Allah, where are you?_

He thrust his sword into the heart of another Byzantine, swiftly and painlessly decapitating him with another swing. The momentum throws Sadik forward and he brings his blade up, only to have it knocked from his hand as he falls to the ground, his elbow taking the worst of the assault. He rolls twice and lands flat on his back, stunned but for the most part uninjured, looking up at the descending raindrops. His mask, however, has stayed intact, clinging dutifully to his face like the second skin it is.

He jumps skillfully to his feet, chastising himself that those few seconds on his back could have been the few seconds it takes for an enemy to slay him. Sadik surveys his surroundings, surprised that he has stumbled quite a distance from the epicenter of the battle. He has cut his way through the Byzantine army and into the fading vestiges of the plain bordering the walls of Constantinople.

It is there, standing sadly behind the curtain of rain, as if determined to hide itself from the brutality that so offends it. Sadik's emerald eyes take in everything, his gaze not as predatory as it would have been weeks before.

Here is his prize, his army's goal.

And he, the noble general of the magnificent Ottoman Empire, can only stare up at the city in utter revulsion.

* * *

A/N: Wow, that's was short. I swear, I'm really sorry. Again, feedback is very much appreciated and I would love it if you guys took the time to drop a review. Criticisms are very welcome because I need to know the points where I need to improve. I'm taking writing a bit more seriously now and I need some help along the way. I hope to update by Thursday or Friday.

Notes:

Translation (Please don't hate me, I don't speak Turkish and Greek. Heck, English isn't even my first language. I had to use Google translate for the phrases.)

_Dikó mou láthos. Pio tragikí ftaío__̱ - Greek, "My fault, my most tragic fault"_

_Üzgünüm__… - Turkish, "I'm sorry."_

The Byzantine Empire, or the Eastern Roman Empire spoke Greek instead of Latin. It took me a long time to remember this… And the double-curl mentioned represents Constantinople in my friend's character design. Again I do not own anything but the plotline; all rights go to their respective owners.


	3. One Breath

Alexios Laskaris

* * *

THE RAIN DRUMS DOWN, PELTING HIM WITH COLD, ICY DAGGERS AS he struggles to press on with fighting. It has been hours, and it has got to the point where his body is on the cusp of refusing his mind. His muscles have been overexerted and he fears that the frequent spasms that jolt through his arms and legs may eventually cost him his life. He vaults over the prone, unmoving bodies of the deceased and the lethargically writhing forms of the dying, sword in hand, attempting to either aid or slaughter the remaining survivors of the bloodbath.

He has lost whatever indication of direction he has, the last of the signs fading away with the sun. He has neither hide nor hair of where north is, nor south, east and west. All he knows is that countless Ottoman soldiers are in front of him, and not one of them is the man he is searching for. To Alexios, they are mere obstructions. Nothing. Valueless.

His daggers and armaments – with the exclusion of his sword – have long been lost, no doubt buried in the flesh of one foe or another, and then quickly replaced by the fallen's abandoned arsenal. His right hand holds fast to his sword as Alexios tries with all his might to keep his grip on the blood-slickened hilt. As his right hand slices in a wide arc to disembowel one approaching opponent, his left hand darts out in an underhand strike to use the staff he has somehow acquired to hit another Ottoman in the head, breaking the staff – and the other's skull – in the process.

As the two bodies fall to the ground in a heavy heap, he darts forward, almost losing his footing on the pooling blood. Alexios runs and dodges in any direction, his circuitous route making him dizzy. The rain strengthens, as if trying to drown everyone underneath the inky sky. The thunder rumbles ominously, sporadically silencing the two armies. The lightning crackles and descends from the sky in searing whips, illuminating the plain with its blinding outlines, striking down frighteningly close to where the Ottomans and Byzantines battled.

Alexios runs and kills, the movements seeming all the more mechanical and tiring. He is, however, cut short and almost choked when he feels his burgundy cloak snag on something. Whirling around as best he can in his constricted state, he sees the fabric of his cape impaled deep into the ground by a heavy barbed spear. He pales as he sees a soldier running towards him, a wickedly large axe in his fist, a smug, menacing smile in on his lips.

Alexios fumbles speedily and frantically with the golden crest securing both ends of the bloodied mantle. His thoughts turn mocking and angry as the grime coating his hands makes it hard for him to undo the maddening ornament.

_That was so smart of you, Alexios. _He reproaches himself, sarcasm dripping from each thought. _Yes, leave your scabbard and bring your cape. Surely, appearance is placed over weight? This mistake could kill you! Does your stupidity know no bounds?!_

In the nick of time, the metal gives way and Alexios extricates himself from the textile's grip. He wastes no time and crouches down, springing back up as the man raises the axe in a death blow. Alexios jams the hefty metal disc into the man's jugular, hearing his windpipe crumple under the force of the blow. Alexios springs away as the man starts gasping for air, axe dropping inches from where he stands. The brunette continues his undetermined route and, along the way, obtains a longbow and quarter-full quiver of bolts from a supine archer whose lower half is nowhere in sight. He wastes no time in firing arrows at the enemy to help his diminishing number of comrades.

_Stupid. This entire war is madness… and at the heart of the maelstrom are two stupid leaders, too much dictated by their hearts to direct themselves and their armies properly. _The thought plays over and over in his muddled brain as he shakes his head, both to dispel the apathy starting to seep into his mind, and to shake of the copious, clinging drops of blood, sweat and rain that obstructs his vision, nearly rendering him blind amidst the violence.

_Sadik… this is your fault._ The sadness seems to shoot out and take him in its lonely embrace as he thinks of the one man worth pondering. _No… this is both of our faults. But we both know that. This… was beyond comprehension. You and me… we couldn't understand it… couldn't stop it. _Lypámai_. A thousand times, I am sorry. But there is much to lose than just our hearts in this war._

Through his mindless running, Alexios somehow finds himself, for the first time in hours, isolated. No soldiers surround him from all sides, pressing in and suffocating him with the sheer weight of their numbers. It is almost eerie. He turns back to see the battle still raging and is dejected by their dwindling numbers. Most of the Byzantine banners have fallen, and he could even see specks of white flags being raised – and being hastily cut down. Unearthly screams resonate from the plain, and the smell of blood hangs thick in the air, making him gag. For once, he allows himself weakness, allows the exhaustion to pull him down to his knees on the rain-soaked earth. He retches, dry-heaving, attempting to purge his guts of whatever poisons that have managed to find their way into him during the battle. It is in this state that all the pain of the bruises and wounds come rushing into him, making him gag all the more.

Nonetheless, he restrains from crying. No tears would be shed today. Not now. He strives to get back on his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He picks up the dropped weaponries and is about to plunge back into the melee when he spots something beyond the thick curtain of rain.

A hazy silhouette stands there in the distance, barely out of earshot, standing rooted in place as it stares up at the city Alexios is defending. The small protrusion of a mask is the solitary indication of who the figure is. The urge to break down reaches its zenith, swelling like a geyser in his broken chest. He knows what he must do.

He only hopes he'd have the strength to follow through.

_Now is my chance._

He swings the longbow up.

_I have to do this. I have to end it._

The Byzantine general notches an arrow.

_One arrow. That's all I need. A close shot. It's enough. I can do this. I will do this._

Alexios draws the bowstring to his cheek, taking aim at the shadowy figure, aiming for the chest, for the heart.

One beat, two beats. His fingers start to relax and the arrow prepares to fly true.

_I love you._

* * *

A/N:: So far so good, I guess. Oh and thanks to Hikou No Kokoro for the review! It was really surprising and I appreciate it. More to come, possibly by Tuesday. See you then!~

_Note:_

Lypámai – Greek, "I'm sorry."


	4. The Greatest Mistake

Sadik Adnan

* * *

THE GREEN-EYED OTTOMAN HEARS THE SOUND OF HEAVY footsteps breaking the pools of water on the bloated ground as they get closer and closer to him. The trance that holds Sadik to gaze up at the façade shatters instantly as his instinctive drive impels him to turn in the figure's direction and take flurried steps backward, all the while drawing one of his few remaining daggers from his long, loose, sleeve. He is alarmed to see a sword clutched intensely and tightly in the other's hand as he continues to approach, his features indistinct in the rain.

Sadik's lips draw back in a disgusted snarl at the stranger and, aiming solely for the heart, he lets the dagger fly. The blade is specially designed. It's a two-way knife, where the recipient dies either way.

Keep it in him, he dies since the weight twists it, severing the arteries. A quick, painful death.

If he chooses to pull back the blade, the blood loss will surely kill him since the blade is flat and wide, purposely made to shed through armor and create a wide gaping hole on a fighter's flesh. It's a slow, agonizing demise, giving the warrior enough time to bid the world farewell.

Sadik admits, the Byzantine soldier is indeed fast. At the last second, the warrior attempts to sidestep the projectile, but unfortunately – or rather fortunately for Sadik – he is too late and he succeeds only to lodge it in the right side of his torso, in the soft vulnerable flesh existing in the underside of the ribcage.

Sadik watches as the Byzantine's free hand flies to secure the blade before it twists further and as the man takes it from his flesh and throws it to the ground, driving the dagger hilt-deep into the muddy earth. Sadik's opponent staggers back briefly, lurching from his loss of momentum before staggering forward again, intent on continuing his path.

Sadik curses and draws his curved sword, preparing to meet his weakened enemy in combat.

The rain persists on pouring all the harder, each drop seeming to grow colder and sharper until they seem like bloodthirsty needles cutting cruelly down into the depths of Sadik's soul.

The thunder continues to roar all the louder, each ear-splitting bellow drowning out the cries of humanity.

The smell of blood gets denser, until it all but coats his nostrils and mouth in the bitter, metallic stench.

The footsteps increase in volume and Sadik begins to finally see his foe's face. Brown hair, darkened into a near-jet-black by rain and blood, hanging heavy in limp strands, save for one double-curl that sticks out in utter defiance. Golden brown eyes burning with a fiery passion Sadik knows and loves so well are staring only at him, shining with unshed tears and misery at wounds from both within and without. This is the man Sadik would go to the ends of the earth and back for. This is the man Sadik would gladly have over all the kingdoms and honors in the world.

This is the man Sadik just sentenced to a sure death.

Alexios Laskaris.

His beloved.

As the realization strikes him harder than a sledgehammer, Sadik curses and screams eloquently in Turkish within the confines of his mind, frantically searching for a way to turn back time and undo every mistake he has made. Questions regarding his own stupidity, his folly, his faults, his desperate pleas to repair and resolve that which can never be mended all meld together in a steaming brew of utter confusion that is then heated by the burning sorrow.

Slowly, as if in a daze, he brings his sword up to deflect Alexios' killing blow.

And so, their final dance begins.

* * *

A/N: I was so close to missing my self-set deadline! Oh, whew, but I got it out in time, Tuesday, as promised. I guess there are five more chapters before this ends…? I'm not really sure. Once again, I thank you for the continued support, especially to Hikou no Kokoro for reviewing.

P.S. "Trust Nobody Is Your Ally" is one of Hikou's stories. It's great and I suggest that people read it. And no, I'm not just saying this because Hikou reviews. Read it and you'll see for yourself why I liked it.


	5. The Blades Sing Of Sadness

Alexios Laskaris

* * *

ALEXIOS' FEET CARRIES HIM FORWARD AUTOMATICALLY AS HE drops the bow and grips his sword. The cold water splashes on his feet, streaming through his sandal's leather straps. Sadik's shadow gets closer as Alexios tenses in anticipation.

Damn the man. Even when Alexios had been so close, even when all he had to do was let go… he couldn't. He can't kill him. Not like this.

Alexios wants to stare deep into his eyes when he has to end it. He owes Sadik that much. He wants to pull him close and whisper how sorry is. He aches to beg for forgiveness that he knows the other man will readily grant, aches to whisper sweet nothings in his ear and reminisce about the few months they had before the battle began. He wants to be given the chance to explain to him why it has to end, why they cannot be together in this world. He wishes to hold Sadik's hand and scream out all his rage at the unfairness of life, pound his fists into the ground and hate all things living and dead with every fiber his body can muster. But through it all, he will never, ever, bring himself to hate Sadik, because he is the one pure thing this world has to offer, the only speck of light in the otherwise dark pit that men has crafted to feed their own greed.

Alexios wants to see him off personally into the afterlife, wants to send him off with a message for whatever Being lived out there that the world is twisted, corrupted and unjust.

And most of all… Alexios wishes to kiss him goodbye.

The Byzantine is partaking in a dangerous gamble. Here he is, sapped and injured by the battle, about to take on a man whose is skilled in the art of killing, the man who is renowned as the Ottoman Empire's deadliest assassin. But, despite this, Alexios identifies his affection as his utmost vulnerability as evidenced by the quickening of his heartbeat and the warm fondness seeping into his chest.

The erratic light catches the approaching metallic object just right and he grinds to stop and turns his body to the side. A slight miscalculation, the brunette realizes a second behind. Agony lances through the right side of his body as the wide blade buries itself in the flesh of his upper abdomen. His left hand catches it, pulling it out and throwing it to the ground, blade first.

Sadik had always known the proper weapons.

Alexios stumbles forward, the blood dripping freely down, staining his chainmail and drenching the tunic he wears beneath his armor. Of course Sadik wouldn't be stupid enough to let Alexios get close to him, engage a battle with the enemy when he can kill them with a safe distance in between. Alexios doesn't know how he overlooked that simple fact and that mistake cost him his life. He has lost the game and he will pay the consequences with his death.

He tightens his hold on the blade, charging forward with renewed vigor, determinedly running forward to meet his beloved before his thread of life completely unravels. Sadik's emerald eyes are the last things he desires to see before he passes on.

They truly are the despicable pair, tangling themselves in a desperate web of lies that both wish to believe, making promise after promise, stepping on them like stones in a pathway that led to a precipice they both would fall from. He wonders if Sadik remembers all the things they said, all the promises they made. He asks himself questions of whether Sadik will mourn when he is gone. Alexios asks if the man regrets, if the man cries, if the man's heart is torn asunder by the agonizing circumstances.

Alexios, in one moment of uncertainty, doubts if the man – Sadik – ever really loved him.

The thought, in itself, hurts just as much as the pain in his side.

However, when his golden eyes, now darkened to a near-amber, rises to meet Sadik's olive gaze, all his misgivings are washed away; the anguish and self-loathing present in those depths snatched his breath away and suddenly, the pain in his side grows minuscule in comparison, much like equating a mountain to an anthill. The conflicted misery plainly etched on Sadik's face haunts him even as Alexios raises his blade to initiate their battle.

Their blades meet. The screeching of metal against metal sounds despicably like a banshee's wailing. The grisly clanging recurs once, twice, thrice, again, in an endless symphony of rancorous, excruciating notes that drown out even the blasted thunder. The sound of rain grows deafening. This is their last song. This is their lullaby.

The touching of the blades are their cold kisses of farewell.

* * *

A/N: Oh gosh it's so short. This was kind of rushed, but I hope it doesn't show. Why is it rushed? Uh… well… see…. It's prom tomorrow. Yes, I have to go even when I don't want to. Well, there's a few more chapters that tell the death scene in detail and the flashbacks from both their lives – foreshadows to a backstory/prequel – so I guess I'll finish it in a few more weeks.

After this, I might work with some FrUK, or PruHun or PruAus. I can't really decide yet.

Once again, thanks to Hikou no Kokoro for the continued support and to the others who don't review but bother to read. Anyone stumbling onto this story has my gratitude! Next – and longer – update will probably be this Saturday.


	6. The Night Before All This Madness

Sadik Adnan

* * *

Sadik stares deep into other's eyes; the golden-brown pools are illuminated by the intermittent flashes of lightning that reflect off of their bloodstained blades as they carry on with their sorrowful clash.

Every intersection of their weapons brings on a memory, refreshing the sorrow within his breaking heart.

"Alexios… stop…" He whispers futilely as he deflects the other's strong – albeit somewhat sluggish – strikes.

"No." the other says, his voice resolute, his gaze callous.

"Why?" Sadik presses an offensive, trying to disarm the other as best he can without injuring Alexios further – he knows he has done enough damage. Alexios' face softens at the brokenness of Sadik's words.

"I can't give up. I can't… I… should have…" Alexios breathing hitches as he tries to keep breathing through the loss of blood. To Sadik's alarm, a trickle of red drips down Alexios' chin as he continues his clipped sentence. "Ended… it… back then. Maybe… it… wouldn't… hurt… this much. You… should have killed me. Either of us could have died… and it would still have hurt worse than to…" He coughs out and spits to the side. "Have fate toy with us in this way." Alexios painstakingly finishes his sentence.

Sadik cannot see why he persists in this. He cannot understand why Alexios wishes so badly to continue to duel in a fight lost before it has even begun. Then again, it is this trait that Sadik loves, this determination, this persistence, this perseverance; the firmness of the man is what drove Sadik to him in the first place.

The memories come, unbidden to his mind. As his body continues on, he remembers that night, the first night they had met, just nigh on four months ago.

* * *

Sadik's Perspective

I smirked in contentment as the last of my targets burst forth from his room after hearing his guard's death scream, a wicked blade clutched in his hand. I observed him lazily from my place on one of the high ceiling's many wooden beams, my jade eyes sparkling with mirth from behind my ivory mask. His shoulders heaved as he panted out in shallow breaths, looking through hooded eyes at the dimly lit corridor, a light sheen of sweat gleaming on his tanned skin. Quietly, I ambled down, using otherwise undetectable footholds etched in the walls to slip through the top of the vulnerable entryway and swing myself into the ceiling of the wide, empty room.

I must admit, these Byzantines made sure to enjoy their last days here in Constantinople – no, Istanbul. The moonlight poured in from the small, glass windows, spattering rectangular silver patterns over the poorly carpeted floor. The animal-hide mattress was overturned, the sheets spilling freely like a white, downy waterfall. The small crevice in the pristine fluff indicates that an object may have lain there.

I had to admit, the bastard was smart for following the cardinal rule of war_;_ He didn't sleep unarmed. I glanced at his receding shadow as he disappeared down the hall to search for the assassin.

I kept my hand on my knife, patiently waiting as the minutes ticked by. Soon enough, the brunette came warily back into the room, closing the door behind him. He stumbled to the table, placing his dagger down on the wooden surface before taking a cup and filling it with some type of wine-water. As soon as the liquid slipped through his lips, I pounced, holding my blade to his throat, causing him to spit and gag violently

I chuckled at his attempts, preparing to drag my knife across his throat and be done with it, but the bastard jammed his heel powerfully into my instep, and I howled, releasing him as I tripped back. Muttering curse words, I dove for him, only to have my blade locked with his own.

My dagger and his connected in a ringing screech of steel over and over, and behind my mask, I peered deep into his soulful brown eyes. The silvery beams illuminated every pale hollow in his face and I thought that something this young, this soft, this… _pretty_ couldn't possibly be the Byzantine lieutenant, the second-in-command to the now-dead general.

His teeth were bared back in a snarl, and I found myself thinking how he looked like a puppy trying to imitate a wolf. From out of nowhere, his other hand had grasped a stone plate and he brought it down on the side of my head. Dazed, I clattered to the floor, groaning.

"Who sent you?" he asked, holding the blade to my chest. "Who is your general?"

I couldn't answer. My mind was running in circles, trying to recover from the force of the blow. I just grated out an incoherent reply as I felt my stomach heave with nausea.

"Answer me, fool." He said, pressing the blade down so it drew blood. I winced at the pain and I made a remark that made his eyes go wide.

"Idiot! I sent myself!"

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I threw him off, hurling him bodily to the wall. I was on him in a flash, but my head was still spinning. I felt around and found a huge sore spot on the right side off my head, a mere hairbreadth away from my temple.

"You see, little Byzantine, I am the Ottoman's general, as well as their best assassin." I brought the blade up, intending to cut out his heart when I heard scuffling footsteps from outside the door. I had a decision to make. If I killed him now, I wouldn't make it out in time. I would get caught.

"Dammit." I got up and took him by his throat, striding in a fast pace to the window. "What's your name, general?"

"Gene– what? Why do you need my name?" he stutters out.

"Tell me or I swear I'll cut you down, whether I get caught or not." I threatened. It was a bluff… but he didn't have to know that.

"Alexios." He stated, then attempted to bring his knee up and hit me. I jumped back with a hiss and cursed him in his own language. Alexios brow lowered and he spat on me in utter disgust.

"There will be hell to pay, Alexios. I'll be back." I vowed with a grimace, slipping out of the window and wiping his spittle away as he lunged for me. But I was fast, and I was already out into the dark, dark, night.

And though I would never admit it then, I would love to come back, every night.

What could I say, after all?

The man had attractive eyes.

* * *

A/N: Welp! Here you go! We're in the last dregs of this fic and I expect 'bout two more posts before I call it quits.

Prom sucked. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be but it was a long shot from good. I was miserable by the time I left - didn't help that it was an hour before midnight and that I was sleep-deprived. So, instead of doing something useless like cry, I wrote this and polished it the best I could. I sincerely hope there are no mistakes.

Thanks for the support! It's very much appreciated! Update by Monday, I guess.

P.S. Did Sadik's little stunt of crawling through the ceiling remind you of Spiderman or is it just me. O_O Hehe... hehe... okay, sorry, I'll shut up now..


	7. Unmasked

Alexios Laskaris

* * *

Alexios feels scared, more terrified than he has ever been in his entire life. His side throbs like a pulsating heart, each beat bringing a searing pain that almost whites his vision out completely. God, he could even feel the rivers of blood leaking out of him, hot and gelatinous in contrast to the crisp, glacial rain. It is all he can do not to let his eyes roll back into his head and fall to the ground. His arms are leaden, like they are being pulled away from his body. His legs are all but ready to collapse under his weight. His clothes are too constricting, making it hard for him to breathe.

His boots are bogged down by the mud as he fiercely continues his assault on the Ottoman, his blade flashing and cutting, the lightning reflecting itself on the tarnished steel exterior, vainly and blindingly despite the vivid bloodstains running up and down its metallic face.

So cold. Has it ever been this cold in the world? Alexios cannot imagine this bitter, frosty temperature belonging on a corporeal level, even on the polar icecaps so far down south. This frigidity brought on by the creeping touch of death chills him down to his core, almost rendering him immobile.

He parries a slothful cut from Sadik, retaliating with a sweeping slash that, to his alarm, is easily deflected by his… opponent. The exhaustion is taxing his strength, sapping him of his energy and he has begun to feel light-headed. Annoyance at his own weakness seeps into his jumbled thoughts as he continues on with his attack.

Stubbornly, Alexios keeps his grip on his sword, pressing his offense with grim determination, deaf to Sadik's incessant pleas for him to stop.

For the last few moments until the present, Sadik's eyes had looked clouded, as if his mind had gone somewhere else. Taking advantage of this, Alexios feints to the right, letting Sadik's move fly past and he drops into a semi-crouch. He half-turns, exposing his back to the jade-eyed man before cocking his right elbow back and slamming the pommel of his sword into his opponent's face, right in between the eyes.

A sickening crack rings through the air as soon as the blunted end kisses the enamel obstruction. Shrapnel flies in all directions, a small, sharp shard cropping Alexios on the side of his neck. Alexios turns around to see Sadik stumbling back, dazed and unfocused – but otherwise, seemingly unharmed – as the mask he loves begins to crack in half, sliding from his face and continuing to shatter as it hits the muck-filled – albeit rock-laden – ground.

Green eyes stare at Alexios in shock and disbelief as he stands there, the rain cascading down his body and mingling with his blood. His limbs have shut off, refusing to obey his mind's commands to press on, the last intense blow having drained him of all his energy.

Alexios' eyelids drop to half-mast, concealing his dimming gold eyes as he sways unsteadily, unable to get a grip on his balance. His knees buckle as he sees a streak of red and dark orange coming towards him.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, and, for some strange reason, he finds himself recalling the one conversation he and Sadik had, two weeks ago, when he had finally gathered the courage to ask about the most prominent milestone of Sadik's past – the enamel mask the general always wore. Stranger still, Alexios smiles amidst the falling raindrops, tears contradictorily escaping from his golden-brown eyes.

Reveling in blissful memories is, after all, the only thing a dying man can do.

* * *

Alexios Perspective

HE SLIPPED IN THROUGH THE WINDOW, ANNOYINGLY QUIET AS I waited for him. I had to tell him today. I had to tell him that the Byzantines would not surrender Constantinople, no matter what. I had to tell him today, before the worst could come.

I had to end this madness, before he or I could further plunge into insanity… entangled in each other's arms.

"You're awfully quiet, hmm?" and suddenly, in just a few seconds of distracted musing, he was there by my ear, his heated breath on my neck as he whispered his damned question. I pushed myself farther away from him as I pointedly glared at the wall. He took his sweet time, leering devilishly as he grabbed one of my empty chairs and straddled it, his chin propped up on the wooden back, cushioned by his sleeved arms.

I poured him a cup of wine and he accepted it gratefully, extracting it from my hand in a surprisingly gentle manner. Without hesitation, he drunk from it, wiping a stray dribble from his chin with the back of his hand.

And so began the ever-present battle of wills. My brown eyes stared deep into his green gaze, the two of us willing the other to break the tension-laced silence. I developed a tick in my eyebrow; I had never been known for my patience. It was all so infuriating: his smug smirk, his relaxed posture… that infuriating mask of his…

It. All. Drove. Me. To. INSANITY!

He expected me to get mad and explode, that much I could tell. I swung my fist at him and he ducked aside, that expression of taunting mirth still adorning his concealed face. If anything, the smirk morphed into a full-blown grin.

I tackled him like an immature child, pinning him to the floor, the chair tumbling behind us. He lay calmly under me, swatting away the punches I aimed at his face. After he got bored, he upended me, pushing me more effectively to the ground, knocking the wind out of me in the process.

"Damn you Sadik! Damn you!" I scream-whispered, trembling with rage. I had to keep quiet, lest my men come running to my room. "Take it off, damn you! Take it off!"

"What?" His provocative smile held too many implications for me to consider, and the wicked glint in his eye made me swallow the dryness in my sandy mouth.

"Your mask, you idiot!" Catching him unaware, I twisted, violently throwing him off of me, my chest heaving with fury. "You wear it like you are a mascot, making it your trademark, armoring yourself in it, believing that others will fear you for it." As my words flew at him, the grin slowly disappeared, but I kept going, unable to contain my irritation. "But it doesn't bolster your strength, you stupid Ottoman! If anything, you look like a child, hiding behind false bravado, trying to scare and bully the adults into giving you what you want. But you will never…" I punctuated each word with an accusing finger. "Get. Constantinople."

I hadn't seen his green eyes glow with rage until that moment. In a flash, he had me pinned by my neck to the wall and he was choking me, cutting off my air with his strong hands.

"Listen to me, sniveling little brat." He snarled, his accent thickening. He bared his teeth at me, and for once, I felt scared of him; truly terrified as he glowered at me with full force burning in his emerald eyes. "I do not wear this mask for all the stupid reasons you accuse me of! It has far more value to me than anyone, especially you, could ever grasp. I am not going to be insulted by you because of your superficial assumptions. Am I clear?" he drew me back and slammed me on the cold, sandstone surface, making my eyes water as I struggled for breath. He squeezed my throat once for emphasis and let me go roughly.

I fell into a fit of gasps and wheezes on my knees while he stood over me with his arms crossed over his chest. Finally, he crouched, pulling me to him as he whispered apologies in my ear, in both his language and mine.

As my lungs refilled with air, I asked one question that I hoped came close to the admission of guilt that I knew I wouldn't be able to voice. "If so… where did your mask come from? And why do you wear it?"

He sat me on a chair before leaning on the table, collecting his thoughts as he looked at the smooth, worn, wooden surface.

"A friend gave it to me."

"A friend?" I repeated dumbly, unable to fathom how he could love his friend enough that he would wear the trinket to battle.

"Yes. Our families constantly traded weapons and such. My father usually owed his family gold and we were one of the only foreign debtors." He answered.

"Where was your friend from?"

"Persia." He stated simply, then elaborated. "Reza was my best friend. We practically grew up together. We learned to fight together. I loved him like a brother."

"I think I may have loved him. But I wasn't willing to admit it to myself." He whispered and I'm not sure if I was even meant to hear that.

I didn't want to feel the jealousy. I didn't want to feel the burning envy for this unknown Persian mask-giver. But it was there. So instead, I tried to ignore it as I focused on the last scraps of his tale.

"And the mask?" I queried nervously.

"When I left… When I became the general, Reza gave it to me as a parting gift. It shocked me, really, since that selfish bastard wasn't the type to give me anything. But here I am, the mask still intact and on my face."

"And that's it?"

"That's it." He confirmed, turning back to me with barely concealed tenderness on his face. "You're the first one who knows that tale. Not even the sultan himself knows."

"Do you always wear it?" I asked again with genuine curiosity, trying to ignore how special it made me feel.

"Most of the time. Sometimes I even fall asleep with it on."

"Idiot to the end." I muttered and fell silent. But I couldn't help myself and I inquired, rather timidly. "Has anyone ever seen you without it?"

He paused before answering. "No one. None of my men know what I look like behind the mask. But… would you like to…" he trailed off and I didn't have to wait for him to finish. He was offering me a glimpse of who he was, beneath the barrier he had buried himself in. I nodded, my eyes locked on his.

I didn't know what I was expecting. Scars, deformities… anything but sculpted angles and smooth skin. He raises his hand slowly and plucked it off… and I may have detected the slight falter to his hold. I held my breath.

The enamel casing was removed and I could not look away.

Damn him.

He was magnificent.

* * *

A/N: Oh my gosh, this was one of the hardest things to write. It's been emotionally taxing and it surprised me a bit because I actually like writing character death. Although, the next few chapters is bound to be harder for me. Ehe. So I think the next chapter will be up on Friday. I'll be inactive until then. This is because I'll wait out the field trip instead of rushing out the story and committing mistakes the way I did before; especially since the next set is the most critical points of the story – for me, anyway.

Thanks again for all who bothered to read and to those who gave feedback! Oh and I realized I never put up any sort of disclaimer. So yeah, I own nothing except the writing and the plot. ^_^


	8. Step-by-Step Farewell

Sadik Adnan

* * *

No matter how fast Sadik's feet propel him forward in that instant, it cannot change the fact that the unmasked general is one thought and one blade too late. The world seems to thicken unbearably, condensing and congealing copiously until it mimics the viscosity of the blood that persistently appears in the drifting particles of air. The storm water continues to pour obliviously, dripping and rolling down his skin in fat droplets as Sadik's arms wrap around Alexios' tipping form. He sinks to his knees, holding the other firmly against his torso as he allows tears to mingle with the residual sweat and rain in a mournful amalgam.

His stiff gloved hand comes up, probing for the other's wound as sobs rise within his sore throat, choking him, forcing him to gasp for air. He is cold and scared and guilty and by Allah, he can still feel the debris from his mask slipping down his face as the blood pooled around his fingers. His mind scrambles to accept that it is gone, that there is a much more pressing matter at hand, but he is unable to grasp that fact. He is unable to believe that he is about to lose both his precious ornament and his beloved on the same day. He feels the same way he did when he had bid Reza goodbye, only this time, the anguish is amplified, with loss consuming and blackening his heart until it threatens to crumble away completely.

The other's eyelids flutter to reveal glowing eyes, their luminosity blunted by the darkness waiting to take him into its eternal embrace. The fondness and vulnerable adoration within those pools of liquid gold shoots an arrow straight into his crumbling heart, rendering him unable and unwilling to speak.

But he has to, lest he leave more things unsaid.

And thus begins the deluge of halting words that, though heartwarming in sincerity, have long been worn out by countless tongues from different times speaking the same sentiments, be it a whisper into ears too far deaf to hear, or over closed caskets with torches held at the ready. Nonetheless, Sadik can't think of any more to be able to deviate from the conventional ritual.

First comes the apology.

"Alexios, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." The words rush out and it nearly kills Sadik to see Alexios' lips tip up in a warm smile. In a way, they have both been unmasked. In these final moments, there is no time for false animosity and disguises. All the walls they have deemed as necessities to keep them from drifting too much together have all been demolished, knocked down and the debris ground into the dust.

Feeling Alexios' struggle feebly in his grip, Sadik loosens his hold, but he can't bear to let go. Alexios doesn't seem intent on putting any distance between them either. Rather, he pulls himself up into a semi-sitting position even as he continues to lean heavily on the other. He then nuzzles into the other lightly, his warm, labored breaths grazing the flesh of Sadik's neck.

They sit there in stolen peace as Alexios mutters beneath his breath. "You idiot."

A half-hysterical sound, half-wail, half-chuckle and over-all a sob, bubbles from Sadik's lips.

"Damn you, Alexios."

And now come the insults.

"This world is so… so… I don't know. I can't think of a dirty enough word for it. Haven't you noticed?" Sadik grumbles, unable to resist squeezing the other man closer, mindful of the gaping wound that he tried to cover with his hand.

"So innocent, aren't we, Adnan? Or is stupid the right word? You have always astounded me with your idiocy." Alexios rasps out in reply, weakly thumping the other's head with his hand. The blow is so weak Sadik has to try and differentiate it from the pouring rain. "It's always been like that, haven't you noticed?"

More half-laughs spring forth from both of them.

"Agreed." Sadik replies, savoring every bittersweet moment they have remaining. This is one of the times when he despises his mindset as a general. He cannot revel in that denial that there is something he can still do, despite the futility of the situation. He cannot tell himself that there is a chance for everything to be alright, if only he can do something. The practicality robs him of those luxuries. Rather, he can only accept Alexios' fate with grim finality, willing himself to enjoy the Byzantine's last breaths… the last sparks of life present in those fiery eyes. "The two generals amidst a firestorm. When I first saw you, back when you were a lieutenant, I thought I rejoiced in the fact that I had killed the general first, since someone as effeminate as you would take his place."

A smirk creeps onto those chapped lips. "Damn you, Adnan. You-" a fit of coughing overtakes Alexios and a trickle of blood finds its way out of his lips again. When it ceases, he winces but resumes his sentence. "-should count yourself lucky that I am as effeminate as you say I am. Or else I would never have loved you."

The last remark renders Sadik's composure to bits as desperation claws its way up into the forefront of his mind.

Here it is, the breakdown. Really, there is no process, no step by step path followed by a grieving man as he mourns the impending demise of his beloved. All that are present are the highlights… the milestones in each goodbye.

"I don't want you to die, Ali. Please don't leave me. Please…" Sadik knows he would rue this day, when he had begged like a lowly animal, whispering brokenly to a weakened man like a frightened child. But he doesn't really care. "Please don't die… I don't want to live anymore. What is Constantinople without you? What is honor and nobility without you by my side?"

"I don't want to die too, Sadik. But you and I both know that there is no salvation to be had, my love. If it makes you feel at ease… the wound no longer hurts." Alexios says in reply as Sadik feels his slender fingers weave through his short hair, anchoring themselves in the threadlike mane.

Sadik can only sob once more, knowing that the lack of pain is a reminder that Alexios' life is fast approaching its end.

And thus begins the last, heartbreaking phase of every farewell: the goodbye itself.

* * *

A/N: Field trip was awesome... I can't really say anything more. I think there's one last chapter and then it's done... I feel guilty for killing Alexios like this, but really, it's like a canon. The Byzantine Empire died by Ottoman hands so yeah. Thanks for the feedback and I hope this story isn't all that bad. Really. I think it's been going downhill after the first chapter.

P.S. I don't own anything but the plot.


	9. Farewell

Alexios Laskaris

* * *

The pain receptors have all shut off in his body, rendering him immobile and numb in Sadik's embrace. It amuses him, in a perverse way; even in the twilight of his life, they can still play at their banter, still tease each other lovingly.

Sadik then says the words that Alexios wants to hear so badly, the five words that he would never tire of hearing. "I love you, Alexios Laskaris."

Damn the man. Sadik always, _always_ knew the right words to say.

Alexios has to scramble for the strength to respond. His eyelids are getting heavy, and he has to use all the strength he has left to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss one last glimpse of Sadik's unmasked face. He can't stop gazing up at those olive eyes, and he is grateful for the fact that the emerald stare is focused with a burning intensity solely on him.

The tears trickle down both of their cheeks, nearly indiscernible from the bucketing rain as the sky continues to weep in despair.

"Yes, may heaven weep for us._" _Alexios whispers wistfully.

"May it grieve until the war has passed." Sadik replies solemnly.

"I'm sorry for destroying your mask… I know how much it meant to you." He apologizes feebly to the man holding him tightly in the sweetest, yet most heartbreaking of embraces. "And I love you too, Sadik Adnan. I always will."

Alexios starts to feel lightheaded, and the words pour out of him in a hazy torrent, much like the effects of a deep intoxication. His vision clouds and all he can see is Sadik. His liquor, his drug. His sin. His heart.

"_S 'agapó__̱__ . Lypámai. S 'agapó__̱__ . P__á__nta tha, p__é__ra ap__ó__ ti__̱__n katad__í__ki__̱__, p__é__ra ap__ó__ to th__á__nato. Tha __í__̱__thela na xanad__ó__̱__ k__á__poia m__é__ra, an o The__ó__s e__í__nai ele__í__̱__mo__̱__n. K__á__poia m__é__ra..._" (I love you. I'm sorry. I love you. I always will, beyond damnation, beyond death. May I see you again someday, if God is merciful. Someday...) the gold-eyed soldier whispers to the other, raising his face. He knows that Sadik understands him. No words are spoken as Sadik captures his lips in one last, tragic kiss that tastes of blood, tears and farewell.

"_S 'agapó__̱__. T__ó__̱__ra kai gia ti__̱__n aio__̱__ni__ó__ti__̱__ta..." (I love you, now and forever) _He breathes against those lips before his thoughts fade away as the kiss wipes everything from his mind.

"_S 'agapó__̱__…"_ (I love you) a voice echoes in his head, regretful and soothing the Byzantine's fears.

He remembers. He dreams. Of fond memories. Moonlight and sweet wine.

"_Lypámai..." _(I'm sorry)

Anger. Rage. Denial. Their shared sorrow. Their tears.

"_S 'agapó__̱__ . P__á__nta tha,"_ (I love you. I always will,)

Hopes. Dreams. Wishes. All of which are destined to go unfulfilled. Promises of eternity and the ashes of their passion.

"_P__é__ra ap__ó__ ti__̱__n katad__í__ki__̱__, p__é__ra ap__ó__ to th__á__nato" _(Beyond damnation, beyond death.)

Defiance. Fate always had seemed determined to keep them apart.

"_Tha __í__̱__thela na xanad__ó__̱__ k__á__poia m__é__ra," _(May I see you again someday)

He looks forward to that one day when he can see his beloved Ottoman again, and be unafraid, in a place where circumstances would not dare rip them apart.

"_an o The__ó__s e__í__nai ele__í__̱__mo__̱__n" _(If God is merciful)

Maybe one day, this forbidden love they share can change with God's mercy. Or would they both be damned to hell?

"_K__á__poia m__é__ra..." _(Someday…)

Yes, he believes that day would come, and Alexios would wait patiently for it.

He closes his eyes fully, the gold shine fast-extinguishing into nothing.

As the sky cries, as they both cry and as the Byzantine army is decimated a distance away from them, Alexios prepares to take his last breath.

* * *

A/N: O…okay… O_O That was by far the saddest. /sigh/ I updated two chapters at one time 'cause they're both so short. My next update (epilogue) will be on Wednesday, I guess. I… Oh gosh, Alexios. I can't. I just can't say anymore. Thanks to all of you who had actually bothered to stick it through. /goes to cry in the corner/


	10. All According to Plan

Sadik Adnan

* * *

The kiss is desperate and he finds himself wishing that it wouldn't end. But it did. Too soon, and he feels Alexios exhale his last into his mouth. He severs their connection, looking down at the pale, lifeless face whose features are set into a dreamlike serenity.

"May you find peace, Ali._ Seni seviyorum.__Ş__imdi ve sonsuza kadar." (I love you, now and for eternity)_

He wraps Alexios in his own cloak and rises, even though Sadik feels the exhaustion taking him. He would return for Alexios' body tonight, to lay it to rest properly. All he wants to do is to sleep, and dream… and never wake up. But he can't do that.

He makes his way back to the battlefield, where all the action seems to have subsided, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. There can be no mistakes as to which side won.

A bitter victory.

He turns to face his remaining soldiers, assessing each one of them in turn.

"Let us proceed." He tells them, not even bothering to raise his voice. Let the dead remain undisturbed. "There is a city waiting for us."

The following battles go by in a blur for him. He can feel no more. All he can do is kill, his body acting of its own accord as his mind is still trapped on that same battlefield, still reliving those final moments, that final kiss. A piece of him has died, left with Alexios and his broken mask. Every sweep of his blade against his foes kills him again and again until he doesn't know if he is truly alive or not. But he endures, as he knows he must.

And so, Istanbul falls into their hands and the Byzantine empire falls. Ottoman reign proceeds undeterred. As is the plan.

The date is May 29, 1453. It is henceforth known as the Fall of Constantinople.

* * *

A/N: This is so short. Why? Because I didn't want to run both this chapter and its predecessor together. It would break the trend. And a lot of you may think it is rushed, but really, I just wanted to emphasize the fact that not much more happened after Ali' death and that, for Sadik, it just became an unfeeling battle with no other tales to tell. Poor Turkey…

Well, I am doing an epilogue. I just hope it doesn't mess the story up. Thanks once more to the readers!

P.S. I still don't own anything but the story. ^^


	11. Epilogue - When The Pain Has Yet To Fade

**Epilogue**

* * *

Seven years. Sadik has counted each day in his lonely agony. Time seems to taunt him as it inconstantly swishes past or hobbles through. The ground crunches beneath his feet as he walks once again on the battlefield… on the graveyard. Visions swim up before him, blurring his eyesight momentarily as he relives every moment, the insanity threatening to claw at him again. He keeps going, and he swears he can still see the fresh bloodstains on the dusty land.

So much destruction. Was it all worth it?

Even after so many years, Sadik still cannot answer that question.

He knows he must return. It would be beyond unfair of him to leave Heracles waiting for him again.

Heracles. A year ago, Heracles had been Sadik's saving grace. Sadik had been on the edge of taking his own life, consequences be damned. But Heracles stepped in with a caustic, albeit whispery remark, and right then, it was enough. Heracles knew, and he understood, and still, he remained at Sadik's side, a fact that the Turk greatly thanked him for.

Heracles himself copes with loss. A few months in, after a few pitchers of wine passed between them both, he finally broke down to Sadik about Gupta, his deceased lover. They are both like weak saplings, unable to stand on their own, but once they support each other, they can get by.

They are both waiting for that day, but until then, living with each other is enough. The comfort of each other's touch is enough to fuel them to get up and live another day. Always enough, but never what they both truly desire.

But in this world, they both suffice.

Sadik still adjusts the white, plaster mask atop the bridge of his nose, irritably pushing it up. The replacement mask he had gotten almost directly after the battle has yet to settle comfortably with him.

It is luxurious, yes, but it is not the mask that he had loved. It is simply an imitation, a ghost of what once was. It is like him and Heracles, replacements, proxies, placed just for the sake of saying there is something there. The enamel mask he had so treasured was long ago lost in the heat of battle, on this very field.

Just like Alexios.

And again, the gnawing heartbreak eats at him. His mask and Alexios are one and the same, and he would forever love them both.

Inimitable.

Irreplaceable.

Lost to him in this lifetime.

He aches once more for that warm embrace, those intoxicating lips. The nostalgia washes over him in an unbearable wave that Sadik sinks to his knees as fresh tears roll down his face.

He loses track of how long he sits there, silently weeping, but the sun has moved to the west of the sky. Suddenly, a cool breeze touches the back of his neck, seeming to loop around him before gradually fading. The scent, a scent he has for so long missed wafts to his nostrils before disappearing.

Alexios' voice resonates within his mind, the words he had last said echoing on and on, each reverberation wrapping like a cocoon around his mangled heart.

"_I love you. I'm sorry. I love you. I always will, beyond damnation, beyond death. May I see you again someday, if God is merciful. Someday..._" it says, and Sadik feels as if he can reach out and arrest it in his arms, recapture the man he loves and will love for eternity. He will hold to that promise, hold to it with fierceness no one in their right frame of mind can replicate.

Someday.

A pained but affectionate smile creeps onto Sadik's lips as he rises tautly and turns, walking back to where he knows Hera would be waiting.

"Yes. I look forward to when we next meet._" _he whispers in answer to the invisible voice. "I shall see you in paradise."

Then, unanimously, Sadik and the wind seem to voice the same sentiment.

_"I love you."_

* * *

_A/N: And it is done! Finally, after all my struggles with typos, abuse of grammatical errors and the English language in general and my retarded dispositions, I have finished my first ever multichapter story! Thanks to whoever stuck it out 'til the bitter end! You all deserve a medal of some sort!_

_This has been sad, so sad... But good news! In a few weeks, after writing some one-shots, I plan to write the prequel to this story (upon the persistent requests of dear SPINNY). There I'll flesh out the happenings four months before the battle, where Sadik and Alexios first met, how they progressed, their views on their defiance of their respective religions... oh, I don't know... a few scenes here and there... Welp! That's the most spoilers I can squeeze out!_

_So thanks to the readers and thanks so much more to those who dropped their awesome reviews that helped me a lot. (/cough/ Hikuo No Kokoro and Captain Awesomesauce /cough/). That's all for now! Goodbye~_


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